


insubordination is just another way of saying i care

by MorteLise



Category: RWBY
Genre: Arguing, Frostbite, M/M, Qrow has thought nothing through, Sharing a Bed, profanity courtesy of Qrow, sometimes to start a relationship you have to almost get hypothermia first, they're mad at each other but only because they care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 16:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteLise/pseuds/MorteLise
Summary: There were a lot of things Qrow expected to get by sneaking into Atlas to help out with a search mission he wasn't supposed to be a part of. Like results. Or gratitude. Or at least some acknowledgement that he has a lot to bring to the table.Instead he gets failure, frostbite, and into bed with his boss. But that last one isn't so bad.





	insubordination is just another way of saying i care

“If I ever take an actual vacation, remind me to stay out of Solitas,” Qrow said, ignoring the way his vision briefly whited out as he shifted back.

Ozpin gave him a disgruntled once-over, dark eyes lingering on Qrow’s blue-tinged lips and the violent shivers he couldn’t quite seem to stop. “I don’t think I’ll have to,” he replied, and Qrow’s brain was sticking a little too much on the bizarre sight of Ozpin’s green silk pajamas.

Okay, not bizarre, not really, considering it was nighttime and Qrow had barged in on the guestroom Jimmy’d set aside for him. If Oz was using it, it probably meant he and Ironwood were as tired as Qrow was of running into dead ends about Watts for one day and had decided to call it a night.

Thus the pajamas, which somehow (not somehow, of course he hadn’t, their relationship was _completely professional_ ) Qrow had never seen Ozpin wear before.

They were nice pajamas. Really nice. Definitely the kind of pajamas a guy like Oz would own. Stylish, conservative, but still showed more skin than the suit. On account of being pajamas and not a suit.

That was probably not what he should’ve been focusing on here.

Qrow placed a stinging hand on the nearby dresser to steady himself and took a swig from his flask he didn’t need. But it did at least distract him from his creeping, borderline dissociative exhaustion and the way most of his body felt like it was simultaneously freezing, on fire, and getting stabbed with needles. “Startin’ to think we’re shit out of luck,” he said. “For a guy whose idea of a subtle jailbreak meant ripping the bars off with his bare hands, Hazel sure dropped off the radar fast.”

“General Ironwood found evidence that he managed to break into the lab as well,” Ozpin said, stooping to look something over on the nearby desk, which shouldn’t have been anything special except that it made the pajamas fall in new, distracting ways that made Qrow realize that contrary to speculation Oz didn’t have much of a reason for all the clothing cover, not with that long white neck and that sharp clavicle and the hint of a well-defined chest he could definitely stand to see more of—

Okay that had to stop.

Qrow sucked in a breath and tore his eyes away, sagging against the dresser and staring at his chapped hands as he blamed the cold for his tremors and racing heartbeat.

The exhaustion had factor into his screwed up thought process somewhere, who got over-excited about an exposed clavicle in the middle of a debriefing?

(He did. Because he was pathetic. But also he now had things other than his default alcohol as scapegoats for why he was so pathetic, and he was gonna use them, damn it.)

“—and several files on his more dubiously ethical projects have gone missing...Qrow, maybe you should sit down.”

God no, he’d probably pass out before his ass hit the seat.

He shook his head, flexing his fingers and distracting himself with the sight of his dried, cracked skin splitting open. The bright dots of pain had the bonus effect of helping him focus a little. “M’fine, just a little winded. And anyway, I didn’t turn up nothing, it just took a while.” He grimaced. “Not that it’s good news. One of the less reputable airship docks said they remembered seeing a pair that could match our fugitives hop a ship a couple hours ago.”

“I see,” said Ozpin, voice flat and strangely close.

Qrow started as a pair of green pajama pants entered his line of vision. He managed to tilt his head up a little and reaffirm that yeah, those long legs were still connected to the rest of Ozpin, it was great to have confirmation there.

Ozpin leaned down against the dresser to look him in the eye. It was distressing on a whole lot of new and exciting levels.

“I won’t say the information isn’t helpful,” Ozpin said. “But I am a bit perturbed that no one asked you to come out here to procure it. What are you doing here, Qrow?”

Oh, right. That.

Qrow shrugged—or tried to, anyway, his joints weren’t too happy with him at the moment. “I figured you could use the extra set of eyes. Wish you’d asked me to.”

Ozpin’s mouth slanted downward in a disapproving frown. “And did it occur to you that there might have been a reason I didn’t?”

That wasn’t much of a thank you.

“Yeah, I figured you made a mistake,” Qrow said. Didn’t quite snap, but he could hear an edge bleeding into it.

“I didn’t,” Ozpin replied, blunt as a brick to the head. “James asked for my assistance with finding Watts, and mine alone. What kind of impression would it give if I’d used that as an excuse to bring my entire entourage into his school to hijack his investigation?”

Qrow snorted. “You can’t tell me _he_ wouldn’t—”

“And I doubt your commentary would’ve helped,” Ozpin interrupted, side-stepping Qrow’s incredible point about Jimmy’s control freak compulsions. “James is still new to this. I’m glad he had the presence of mind to ask for help, but I’m not going to insinuate that he can’t handle it.”

Qrow could feel his temper fraying like a worn rope, which was funny because frayed rope was about what the rest of him felt like. “Well, he couldn’t, could he?”

The practiced patience in Ozpin’s eyes wavered, something thrillingly dark and angry surging to the surface for just a moment before he locked it back down. Which was great for Oz, but it’d already messed with Qrow’s pulse in all sorts of interesting and nearly debilitating ways. “And while your unwanted assistance may have gotten the news to us sooner, it didn’t do much to prevent that either, did it?”

So even Ozpin’s temper got shorter after a long and shitty day, good to know.

It shouldn’t have been hot. But somehow it was.

Annoying and hot.

“Maybe if you’d let me in on it from the start instead of trying to coddle a grown man—” he tried to protest, and was overridden almost immediately.

“Because you left such a good impression last time, I’m sure he would’ve been quite forthcoming once you began heckling him.”

What the fuck, Oz, he could be petty but he wasn’t _five years old_.

He could hear his voice rising, damningly loud for a room that should’ve only had one occupant. “Right, because I have no idea how to keep my mouth shut during an emergency—”

Ozpin didn’t even bother telling him to quiet down. In fact he was just about matching Qrow’s volume. “The gravity of the situation certainly didn’t help you follow orders. No, now instead you’re fighting off hypothermia from spending hours combing a frigid city you’re barely familiar with by overtaxing a form I specifically asked you to avoid exhausting yourself in when I gave it to you. James knows I spent a great deal of time in Atlas during my last life, and more importantly he’s aware of my familiarity with Hazel—”

Well great, at least Oz had touched on it before Qrow had to bring up the obvious reason he was mad.

“Yeah, does he know what happened the last time you ran into him?” Qrow snapped, and Ozpin faltered, bafflingly attractive rage sliding off his face. “Sure, you know Hazel best, but that’s ‘cause he’s got a grudge a mile long that would’ve put you in the grave the last time Salem threw him at you if it hadn’t been for Glynda. But I guess you’re A-okay with chancing a one-on-one rematch, not like you’re the leader of a top secret organization fighting the ultimate evil or anything, just go ahead and risk dying—”

“A risk I am allowed to assume at my own discretion,” Ozpin said, still clipped and cutting, but the fire behind it had gone out. “Especially given how often I ask you and the others to do so. And one I had the presence of mind to announce. Unlike you, who could’ve expired out there in the cold with no one the wiser.”

Qrow snorted. “Not really the same net loss there, Oz,” he said, and Ozpin’s slow trek back to serenity was interrupted by a familiar dumbfounded expression of incredulity that clearly stated Qrow had said something Fucking Stupid.

“I’m amazed you can say that straight-faced to the _perpetually reincarnating immortal_ who allotted a portion of a precious and very finite resource to you when you took the job,” Ozpin said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So by saying you aren’t worth it, are you telling me that was a waste?”

‘The way Raven was,’ Ozpin didn’t say, and had actually never said, which made him just about the only person outside of team STRQ not to say it when she’d left.

Which was the kind of attitude Qrow wanted to keep around instead of spinning that big old reincarnation roulette wheel any time soon.

Plus. Y’know.

“If you’d died...” Qrow trailed off and swallowed the lump in his throat, full of too many embarrassingly sappy sentiments to figure which one to put into words. Might’ve been for the best that he didn’t pick any.

“I would be back,” Ozpin said gently, and Qrow frowned.

“But you wouldn’t be _you._ ”

Ozpin’s soft, reassuring, holy-fuck-I’m-so-wise smile collapsed into an expression that looked almost comically blindsided, and Qrow wondered how badly he’d screwed up. Was that like the reincarnation equivalent of telling a girl you were only into her for her looks? That wasn’t how Qrow had meant it—just that he was pretty damn attached to this particular version of his confusingly immortal boss that he’d actually gotten to know—but in hindsight it did sound kinda superficial. ‘Hey, after everything you’ve done for me it turns out I only like you for your body.’ Nice going, Qrow.

He had come up with and then discarded at least half a dozen ways to take it back that were even more terribly phrased when Ozpin cleared his throat.

Oz didn’t look angry. That was good.

“Yes, well, if you’d died, you wouldn’t have come back at all,” Ozpin said, default smile back in place but looking a little more plastered on than before for some reason. The intent behind it didn’t look bad, at least, and any further overly in-depth analysis Qrow might have went into over Oz’s mood was derailed by the near heart attack he had when Ozpin reached out and took his hand. “As it is, I’m hoping your frostbite isn’t too severe.”

“Nothin’ Aura can’t fix,” Qrow mumbled, trying not to stare as long fingers ran carefully over the scabs and dried blood smeared on his left hand. Nerves that hadn’t functioned right in hours tingled in the wake of those fingers, which was either a magic thing or Qrow’s existential crisis manifesting as a psychosomatic effect.

“Here’s to hoping,” Ozpin agreed, and added Qrow’s right hand to the inspection. Like it was normal. It was not normal. Granted, now that Qrow’s momentum had run out he wasn’t doing so well in the cognitive department but he was still pretty sure it wasn’t normal.

Everything had gone off balance, and it took him a moment to realize that at least some of that was literal, between the adrenaline crash and the way Ozpin had sneakily managed to get him to stop leaning against the dresser when he decided to _hold his goddamn hands_.

So they were—standing there, and there were the hands, and Qrow was a lot closer to collapse than he’d thought he was, and somehow he was actually grateful that his face had already been red from frostbite because otherwise he would’ve been a lot more obvious right now.

Also it was late. Ah right, it was really late. He could use that. To make things make sense again.

“Uh,” he said intelligently, as Ozpin smoothed a thumb over one of his more blood-flecked cuts, brow furrowed in concentration. “I should—go?”

Not a question. He should go.

He should definitely get with the going.

“Can you make it to where you’re spending the night?” Ozpin asked, and then, mercifully, stopped examining Qrow’s hands when he saw the blank look on his face. “Qrow, where are you spending the night?”

Qrow reached for an answer, couldn’t find one, and after rooting desperately through several layers of exhaustion realized that it wasn’t just lost, it was nonexistent.

He might not have thought this through.

“Evangeline wouldn’t mind if I crashed at her place,” he said finally. “She’s a Huntress, she gets it.”

‘Crash’ was threatening to get literal real soon.

“And I ask again,” Ozpin said patiently, “can you make it?”

He’d have to lie.

Ozpin, being Ozpin, saw that he’d have to lie and was probably going to, and Qrow stumbled as Ozpin tugged him forward before he could answer, because okay, yeah, the hand holding was still happening actually.

“You’re dead on your feet,” Ozpin said, which was a pretty obvious observation for him to make as he ushered Qrow along, but then Qrow hit mattress and oh wait no—

“Your bed,” Qrow mumbled into the sheets, as much a realization as a half-assed protest. He was reciprocating the hand holding now, with his tragically limited dexterity, trying to either pull Ozpin down to claim the bed or pull himself up to make his getaway.

Although actually he didn’t think he could manage vertical again any time soon.

“I don’t mind giving it up for the night,” Ozpin said, nudging Qrow until his limbs were arranged in a way he wouldn’t regret in the morning, even if he regretted everything else. Also Qrow’s shoes were gone. And the sheets were very soft. And maybe he hadn’t gotten the chill out of his bones as much as he’d thought, what with the tremors. And somewhere between his protest and the blankets getting piled up on top of him he’d given up the ghost and mostly focused on getting warm again.

“Or,” Ozpin added, and let that hang.

And maybe he let it hang because he figured Qrow would pass out before he could puzzle out the implication, let alone an answer, and maybe that wasn’t a bad read, but since Qrow ran primarily on alcohol and contradiction he managed to stay just conscious enough to tug at Ozpin’s hand again, giving barely coherent mumble of consent.

There wasn’t any thought or reasoning put into it. There should’ve been, but Qrow was too far gone for any of that, even to his usual shitty standard. Just a half-formed impression of want and general positive vibes about Ozpin and an instinctive need for a heat source, and then after all that effort of giving an answer he dropped off before he could register the response.

But he did, distantly, note that it was so easy to drift off because it was finally warm.

-

Huh, that must’ve been a rough night.

Qrow crashed into consciousness the same way he did a lot of things—recklessly, with a lot of incidental damage and not a lot of comprehension.

Everything hurt.

It wasn’t his bed, either, and not-his-bed was occupied, and his bedmate was definitely not Tai or his nieces, all of which usually added up to one thing.

So nice job, Drunk Qrow, except for the part where he now felt like crap.

There was a whole lot of context he felt like he was missing and rebooting his brain seemed to be going slower than usual, but so far he didn’t see any reason to object to the lean body he was wrapped up in and bafflingly the overall feeling he got was one of safety.

Well, the good news about waking up in bed with someone was that if he never found the old memories he still had time to make some new ones. He hooked an ankle behind the other man’s, vaguely annoyed that their pants (and it was weird they were still clothed, come to think of it) impeded his enjoyment of some obviously toned and very long legs as he tangled them back up properly. And he filed away the sound of a sleepy inhale as he nuzzled his way along smooth, warm skin into the crook of a very nice neck, pressing his lips there in a soft, wet imprint as he skimmed his hands under the hem of a silk shirt.

He should probably start hunting for context at this point, but for the moment it was a lot more fun working with what he had, especially as his partner stirred awake, shifting against him.

And then context found Qrow anyway, in the form of a quiet, intimately familiar voice raspy with sleep.

“Qrow,” Ozpin murmured, inanely cautionary, and Qrow finally opened his eyes to a tangle of grey hair and a handsome, sleepily perturbed face, dark eyes turned honey gold in the sunlight.

And, because Morning Qrow was an even bigger dumbass than Drunk Qrow, rather than stop he thought _hey, jackpot_ , and took that as his cue to kiss him.

Oz’s lips were soft and pleasantly yielding, both things Qrow was happy to explore more in depth and for a long time, possibly forever. Qrow slipped one hand out from under Ozpin’s shirt to cup the back of his head, sliding fingers through soft hair and gently angling to kiss him deeper, and God wasn’t this the best thing to wake up to after a night of—

A night where he’d—with the—

So Oz had—

Oh wait _fuck_.

He jerked back with a curse and tried to make a run for it. Only lying tangled up on a bed wasn’t an ideal running condition, so really he tried to roll for it, managing maybe half a desperate rotation before everything spun in the opposite direction he’d been aiming for and he found himself flat on his back very solidly pinned beneath Ozpin and well shit, if he somehow hadn’t been obvious before he sure was now.

That was not the direction he needed his blood to be going. His brain needed it.

“There’s broken ceramic on the floor,” Ozpin said, the slight hitch in his voice hotter for how calm he sounded otherwise. His eyes were steady and focused on Qrow’s own with a level of self-control Qrow himself definitely didn’t possess, distracted as he was by Oz’s swollen lips and the faint flush in his cheeks and the wet sheen where Qrow had mouthed his way along his neck. “My mug fell off the nightstand.”

No prizes for guessing why that happened.

This was a new and daring level of fucked that Qrow was right now, of course he just had to thank Oz with that tried and true method of Sticking Your Tongue Down Your Boss’s Throat After He Saved You From Hypothermia and Your Own Terrible Life Choices, great, he’d had a good run of it but it looked like it was time for him to find a new job.

(Part of him was just annoyed he’d wasted it on this—he’d always known he’d slip up someday, but he could’ve at least picked a time when they were both fully conscious and didn’t have morning breath. But timing was never Qrow’s strong suit.)

He licked his lips nervously. Tried not to think too hard about the brief rerun of the last few minutes it sent him through. “So, this was probably a pretty good look into what I do with my night life,” he said. “But my brain’s back online now. As much as it ever is, anyway.”

Ozpin exhaled slowly, face falling in—disappointment? Annoyance? Either one made sense, ‘annoying disappointment’ covered Qrow’s existence pretty well. The grip on Qrow’s wrists loosened as Oz leaned back, still hovering over him but at least in a way that was slightly less—blood pumping. “So I could’ve been anyone?” he asked.

Prompting, not upset. So that was good.

Qrow tried to prop himself up on his elbows, failed miserably, and flopped back down in defeat, raking a hand angrily through his hair. “I admit I have a pattern, but—” His throat clicked as he swallowed. “You’re you, Oz, that’s plenty desirable when you have the—heh, bad luck of waking up in bed with me.” He really didn’t want to have this talk at such an awkward angle. “Look, if you’re gonna fire me, could you at least let me off my back first?”

Ozpin blinked, probably less awake than he was trying to present himself as (no way someone who tried to make a living entirely off sugar and caffeine was a morning person), and shuffled aside, settling against the headboard to the right of Qrow.

And Qrow was still too sore to actually get up. He growled in annoyance and settled for rolling onto his side, facing Ozpin. Ozpin stared back at him.

“I’m not going to fire you,” Oz said.

“And I’m not gonna make excuses,” he replied, because why not go all in at this point. He took a deep breath. “So. Thanks for everything, too bad my gratitude involves swapping spit and getting frisky over sharing body heat.”

Somehow spelling it out like that didn’t make everything blow up in his face the way he thought it would. Instead Ozpin just kind of looked at him, dark eyes still assessing but not judgmental.

“Don’t you think,” Ozpin began, deliberate and careful in a way that skirted weirdly close to nervous, “that after building years of trust and familiarity, and running yourself ragged on my behalf out of simple concern for my safety, your…gratitude might, perhaps, not go unreciprocated?”

Qrow stared blankly. It was way too early for convoluted double negatives.

Or…wait.

Wait, wait—

Qrow finally managed to lurch up on to an elbow. “So you hopped into bed with me because you wanted to...hop into bed with me,” he said slowly, and Ozpin’s head ducked down, somehow managing to look more out of sorts than that time team STRQ had accidentally drop-kicked a stray Nevermore through his office window in their junior year.

“It was a bit more—crass than I’m accustomed to being,” Ozpin admitted. “And I still feared I was taking advantage. We’ve certainly grown closer over the years, but given how forthcoming you usually are about your, ah, interest in others, I couldn’t be sure whether you had any in me—”

What.

So Ozpin—with all that ancient knowledge and wisdom and nobility—had watched Qrow upend his entire life and toss aside his ingrained trust issues in favor of hopelessly dedicated lo—yalty, and still had the nerve to say that he  _wasn’t sure Qrow had any interest._

Qrow needed a drink.

“You’re my _boss_ ,” he said incredulously. “We had the chain of command in the Branwen tribe, too, believe it or not. I’m not gonna jeopardize my purpose and my lifestyle and what we’ve already got going on the gamble that you might wanna sleep with me if I hit on you.”

Which Oz was now saying he did. Or was it—Did he—

“Y’know, maybe we could’ve avoided this if you’d let me know when you suddenly got interested,” he added, and then Ozpin did look at him again, his expression the definition of long-suffering.

“Suddenly,” he repeated in a dead voice.

“Well yeah,” Qrow said, because what cues could he have gotten from someone who was just generically civil with damn near everyone. “You’re in charge, what could I do about it if you made a move? The guy in power doesn’t need to wait on a signal when he can just take what he wants…” he trailed off at the look on Ozpin’s face.

Ah, damn. He knew that look. He thought he was past that look. The No, Qrow, That Is A Creepy Bandit Thing We Don’t Have Around Here look.

He’d memorized that one after ignoring it the first time had landed him in a skirt.

“Traditionally that’s called an abuse of power,” Ozpin said in that same dead tone of voice. “And is not considered an ideal way to start a relationship.”

“But making out in a guest bed in Atlas after a failed mission is?”

He _really_ needed a drink.

Ozpin sighed, but wore a smile that meant he somehow seemed to find that endearing. Maybe. “As a mutual experience, yes. Comparatively.”

Qrow flopped back down flat on his back and scrubbed his face with a hand. “So basically we were both waiting on a nonexistent cue here. Like some jackass game of reverse gay chicken. Wow, did we fuck this up.”

“Basically,” Ozpin admitted.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

God, Qrow had a lot to sort out way too early in the morning.

And that wasn’t something he really wanted to tackle while he was still under-caffeinated, under-liquored, not fully conscious, and stuck in a body that had given up on him about twelve hours ago and was happy to give him constant reminders.

But also in bed with a man who’d just announced that Qrow’s sad, pining devotion might actually be mutual.

So. That was cool.

Guest bed in Atlas on a mission he hadn’t been invited to still wasn’t what Qrow would consider the best location for all that, but—

Oh wait, shit.

He lurched up again in alarm. “Hey, how pissed is Jimmy gonna be when he finds out you picked up a plus one in the middle of the night?”

Ozpin did not look thrilled at the subject change. “James is happy to give me my privacy,” he said. “So I doubt anyone would’ve heard anything last night. And I still have—” He nabbed his scroll off the nightstand and frowned at the time. “Well, we have a few minutes before I’m expected to be anywhere. And if your information is correct, they’ve already left the kingdom, so if there’s anything left to be done we’re going to have to rethink our strategy. Chances are they’re headed for Mistral, so I can reach out to my contacts there. James still has Doctor Polendina at his disposal, who may yet have ways of tracking his wayward scientific partner...”

Qrow squirmed into a sit. “I can get back out there, see if there’s anything else—”

Ozpin planted a hand on his chest and shoved him back down. “You will not, for all the reasons we’ve already covered,” Ozpin said firmly.

“Oh sure, it’s an abuse of power for you to make a move on me, but sentencing me to house arrest is just fine,” Qrow grumbled.

He wasn’t sulking. He would deny in hypothetical court that he was sulking.

“It is,” Ozpin agreed, completely unrepentant. “Especially when you’re still recovering from last night.”

Qrow snickered. “Sure that’s how you wanna phrase it?”

Ozpin inspected the much-healed but lingering frostbite in his hands. “Yes,” he said simply.

Huh.

That was gonna take some getting used to. Oz rolling with the innuendo was just weird.

But it opened the door for a lot of fun things Qrow’s ingrained cynicism still wasn’t ready to accept Ozpin was actually interested in doing with him specifically.

“Wouldn’t mind some incentive for staying in bed, then,” he said, telling his rising nerves to take a goddamn hike as he dove right back into whatever the fuck was going on.

Overthinking it would just ruin it. And Oz had said they had a few minutes.

(In a job like theirs, they had to take happiness where and when they could find it.)

He saw his nervousness reflected in the flickering dart of Ozpin’s dark eyes over his face; in the spasm of thinned lips between smile and frown. “Oh?” Ozpin said, in a tone that was probably aiming for coy but just broadcasted that Oz was definitely in the throes of overthinking it.

Well, they couldn’t have that.

So Qrow took the initiative and kissed him again.

Just to see if he could, really—if he could have _again_ , or if the algorithm running in Ozpin’s head was about to spit out some flashing red danger signs over what a relationship with Qrow would bring.

And in a shocking twist, all Ozpin did was kiss him back.


End file.
